Books Burn Badly - Manuel Rivas [61]
Then he made them laugh. They’d never seen horns lifted in this way, with hands reversed, on buttocks, and cheeky fingers dancing obscenely.
They invite them to eat. Silvia becomes serious and steps forward. Appears to speak for all three of them. No, they don’t want to. They’re not hungry. They already ate on the way.
‘Then let’s have a dance,’ says Terranova. He’s feeling happy, replenished. ‘I’ll sing. You three can dance with him, let me tell you, with Hercules himself. Mystical roses, you have the opportunity to dance with a prince from Un-deux-trois, on a tour of the mountain ranges. Dance cheek to cheek, Spain’s perdition, no peeping!’
The light burning in your eyes
dawns if you open them,
as you close them
dusk seems to fall . . .
When it’s Silvia’s turn, she comes up close, embraces him. The other two laugh, pretend not to watch. Terranova jokes, ‘Don’t get burnt!’ Changes tune. ‘What do you care, my love, if you no longer feel the same?’ Silvia talks to Curtis, whispers in his ear, ‘Don’t you dare touch the food in the shrine again.’
He looks at her in surprise. Why?
‘It’s not for the dead, it’s for my father. Understand? My father’s hunger is not like that of souls. It’s the hunger of a hungry fugitive. Do you understand or not?’
He understood all right. Terranova always said there was an invisible man in those parts. An ex-man. Who must be living in Barxas Wood. In the eye of the water. The trees had long, ancient beards. The Invisible as well.
Some guards once passed the cabin. In cloaks. The barrels of their guns sticking out. They were obviously in a hurry, but made enquiries. And then Terranova gave them the spiel. They were Portuguese, from across the border, hired as shepherds, when they were young they’d been offered to Our Lady of the Rock, the tallest stone staircase in the world, etc. Curtis was amazed by Terranova’s skill at accents, his palatal pattering speech.
‘Has the cat got his tongue?’
‘He’s dumb. Name’s Hercules. Lots of brawn and no brains.’
‘Lucky him,’ said the corporal. ‘Seen anybody about?’
‘Not a soul.’
‘If someone comes asking, don’t give him a thing, any bread or water.’
‘Even if he’s a Christian?’
‘He’s not a beggar, you know. He’s a fugitive. A bandit. A red. A descendant of the one in Anamán who shouted the poor don’t have and the rich won’t give.’
‘How can we tell?’
‘Because he doesn’t know how to curse. Whoever heard of a Christian that can’t curse?’
‘Change of partner. Dance by ear!’ announces Terranova. ‘If you see your father, tell him when he doesn’t receive alms, he has to curse. Blaspheme. They’re on to him because he speaks properly. Words are the most visible footprints.’
‘The thing is he doesn’t believe, so he doesn’t blaspheme. When he gets really worked up, the worst insult he comes out with is “Papist”.’
‘I could teach him to say, “I pick my teeth on a fragment of the Holy Cross”. I could make a list and leave it in the shrine. I had a thorough education. My mother’s a saint. He has to ask like a chaplain and curse when he doesn’t get. He believes in souls, doesn’t he? They say if you bump into a soul, you have to make the following request, “If you’re a soul from the other world, say what it is you want.” My mother and Curtis’ are always getting bogged down with souls, because they ask them what they want. The best thing is to send them packing, as priests do, “Christian soul, off to heaven with you!”’
When the storm had passed, the seamstresses put their sewing machines back on their heads and asked Curtis and Terranova to go with them for a bit.
‘We’re headed for Barroso,’ said Silvia. Adding mysteriously, ‘Come with us to see how goats fly!’
‘There are more crazy people in this world than in the world of spirits,’ said Terranova. ‘Lead on!’
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